the nose of the closer Ocretion. I immediately repeat the move; this time, his facial flesh is already pulpy, and my foot comes away slick with blood. His scream of pain and fear soothes my ragged nerves, and he drops in the dark, a useless sack of flesh. The second one is easier to fell; his surprise makes him stand still and stare while I crack his trachea.
“Mine are down. I’m ready,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with adrenaline.
At my back, the purple warrior grunts. The clang of steel on metal tells me he’s unsheathed his wicked dagger from his waist and is fighting with a guard; the horrified squeals are a welcome notification that his attackers have been vanquished.
He breathes hard as I dart to his side. “Come.” He grabs my arm. “On my signal, we run.”
I don’t argue because equipment overhead groans and whines, and then the lights flicker. The power is back.
“Go!” He tugs me, and suddenly we’re racing, hand in hand towards the door. He’s fast—so swift, I can barely keep up, so I focus and summon my burst powers, my surplus energy stores that allow me to push my human body harder than any being should.
“Veck, you’re unbelievable,” he mutters—I think. I can barely hear through the roar of the crowd, and my heart pounding in my ears.
I fly, faster and faster—I’ve never moved like this. Stars! It feels good. Even in the middle of this panic, there’s something so intense and soul-satisfying to race on fleet feet with someone whose speed matches mine. For a second, I feel like the two of us are alone in the universe, our bodies working at their maximum capacity.
The fatigue hits me about thirty seconds later.
“Aiii,” I gasp, my muscles locking so hard and tight that I skin my feet on the hard earth as I tumble down. The pain is so intense that I see it blazing in front of me, white hot. My lungs are molten.
“Veck!” He stops and doubles back and scoops me up. “We’re almost there.”
I’m back over his shoulder now, head bouncing as he speeds to the tarmac. Our pursuers have multiplied; I count at least twelve beings bursting through the doors of the auction house.
“They have weapons,” I croak. “laser guns. Long range. Through the pain, I narrow my eyes and estimate the trajectory. “Move to your left on my count. Three, two—NOW.”
He jumps aside, and the beam of pure light crackles and sizzles past us, singing the hair on my arm as it heats the air with the power of a thousand bolts of lightning.
“Again, to your left. Now.” I grab his waist to stabilize myself.
This time, the ray hits a nearby craft, a transpo vehicle. The smell of burning metal hits my nose as acrid smoke puffs up. Cries of rage and fear ring out.
“We’re here.” He stops in front of a sleek modern craft, and within seconds, I’m on the starship floor in a graceless naked heap, and he’s seated at a high-tech control console. “Stay there and don’t veck this up. We can die any moment,” he snaps.
I’m about to reply when the g-forces hit me, pushing me into the wall with such immense pressure that my lungs empty of air, and I’m positive my stomach is touching my backbone.
I can’t breathe—I’m going to pass out—when the craft suddenly goes weightless, and my body relaxes back into itself. I gasp out a long whistling burst and suck in oxygen, greedy for it.
My whole body is a wreck, full of cuts and bruises, but I’m alive. Safe. Away from the Kraa and the auction.
I glance up at my savior. His smooth purple brow is wrinkled in concentration, and the powerful muscles in his arms move as he taps and touches controls. I’m mesmerized by his face, stern and handsome; it evokes feelings I don’t understand.
I struggle to sit up. “Who are you?” I shake my head. “What do you want with me?”
He finishes one last maneuver, then pushes his chair back from the screens and observes me closely. His purple horns gleam in the light, and his eyes darken.
Then he smiles. “Who am I?” He raises a brow and crosses his arms. “I’m Khrys. I’m a Zandian warrior… and your new master, at least temporarily.”
Khrys
The little warrior doesn’t appear to like this answer. She pushes to a sitting position, wincing. “I belong to no one but myself.” Her voice is haughty and at odds with her subservient position. She